“A very silly wish. It is true, Mrs. Whitten?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Whitten’s expression was not a wishing one. “I didn’t want it to be known because I knew — I knew my husband wouldn’t. I hadn’t thought of the open door, and so I didn’t realize that she had killed him. She had waited for six long months, waited and hoped, hoping to get him back.” Mrs. Whitten’s eyes left Wolfe, and they were hot with hate and accusation as they fixed on Julie. “But you couldn’t! He was mine, and you couldn’t have him! So you killed him!”
“That’s a lie,” Julie said, deadly quiet and low. “It’s a lie and you know it. I did have him. He was mine all the time, and you knew it. You found it out.”
Wolfe pounced. “What’s that?” he snapped. “She found it out?”
“Yes.”
“Look at me, Miss Alving. Let her go. Look at me. You are in no danger; there was no open door. When did she find it out?”
Julie’s head had slowly turned to face him. “A month ago.”
“How do you know?”
“He wrote me that he didn’t dare to come — where we met — because she had learned about it. He was afraid, terribly afraid of her. I knew he was a coward. Don’t ever fall in love with a coward.”
“I’ll guard against it. Have you got the letter?”